


Gridiron II

by orphan_account



Series: Brothers [11]
Category: Marvel Cinematic Universe, X-Men (Movies)
Genre: Gen, M/M, Multi
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-01-01
Updated: 2012-01-01
Packaged: 2017-10-28 16:08:43
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 15,884
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/309649
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/orphan_account/pseuds/orphan_account
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>The only thing that’s keeping him here is Tony’s arm around his shoulders and the thought of how much Thor wanted him to come, enough to crawl into his bed and keep him from sleep for about an hour and a half with meaningless talk and childish prodding.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Gridiron II

**Author's Note:**

> This is the second part of the Gridiron series. I’m incredibly sorry for the the length of this chapter; it kind of turned into a monster like Like Toothpaste. Plus, I progressively grew more and more critical of myself as I wrote; sorry, sorry. Anyways. I warn you that there is going to be a lot of situations that could totally be considered cockblocking to you guys, a fuckload of tension (if you know what I mean) built here, and my writing is absolute shit.

He should be fired for this. If Professor X didn’t like him so much (God knows why; he’s not _that_ nice of a person, and Tony’s constant messing with him at work doesn’t help _at all_ ), he probably would have been the moment he called in ‘ _sick’_ for a second day. Like that cover’s going to hold up when the fraction of the student body that actually notices him will be able to testify that he was at the homecoming game. Maybe he can come in and work on Saturday.

Loki wouldn’t have done this under any other circumstances, really. If he didn’t love Tony to death _and_ feel this sudden, will-bending obligation to Thor (something he hasn’t felt in years), he never would have lied his way out of work to attend a _sporting event_ , much less to watch a game he doesn’t understand nor does he _want_ to understand. But Tony sounds incredibly persuasive over the phone and when Loki’s lying in bed, trying to go to sleep, and Thor’s just so big and cute, like a teddy bear, when he begs. That’s why he says _yes_. Mm-hmm.

One of the things that comes with not understanding football is not understanding why people care so much about it, and enough to _dress up_ for it. That seems just a little ridiculous to him, which is why Loki is questioning his decision to go along with this whole thing when he’s sitting on Tony’s bed, waiting for him to finish digging what-the fuck-ever out of his closet.

“I hope this doesn’t turn out like the party,” Loki says to no one in particular, propping an elbow on his knee and resting his jaw against his hand.

“What?” Tony calls, and he peeks around his closet door to give Loki an inquisitive look. Loki purposefully makes his expression more hangdog; even if he sort of-kind of _has_ been making an effort to cut down on his deceptive tactics (this is an extremely recent change, as in, _last night when he thought about how much better honesty would be_ recent), he’s a naturally manipulative, devious soul.

“I said, I hope this doesn’t turn out like the party,” Loki repeats himself, and he quirks his lip in a way that’s insolent but undeniably attractive, because old habits die hard and Tony is _really_ fun to play with. You know that amazing feeling you get when you’re six years-old and in the schoolyard, playing a game of hide-and-seek with your best friend? That’s what it feels like to mess around with Tony, except it’s a lot better and a lot hotter.

“It won’t,” Tony replies simply, but not before smiling just a bit and returning to his enthusiastic search through his closet (that he _seriously_ needs to clean up), “You’ll be with me the whole time, so you won’t get raped or abandoned.”

“You sure I won’t get raped?” Loki jests easily, lazily moving to lie on his back with his legs pulled up. He grins, waiting for Tony to catch on.

“It’s not rape if you like it,” is Tony’s cheeky, very suggestive response, and Loki doesn’t try to stop himself from laughing outright. His snickering only stops when a blob of fabric lands on his face.

“There,” Tony says as Loki lifts the red and gold jersey from his face with pinched fingers. Loki observes the shirt for a moment, taking in the _01_ printed on the back, the _ROGERS_ (oh my _God_ ) splayed across the shoulders. He could complain about all of that, but he chooses something a lot safer and more innocuous to criticize.

“It’s too big,” Loki points out, making a face at the jersey. Tony makes an irritated noise, and Loki swivels his head around to glance, pouting, at his friend.

“Everything is too big for you,” Tony argues, and yeah, that’s actually half-true (a hefty portion the stuff in Loki’s own closet doesn’t fit him right). It doesn’t mean Loki’s going to give up, though.

“I don’t look good in red,” Loki persists, however ridiculous that sounds. Is it obvious that he’s pushing it?

Tony does this smirky, sarcastic thing with his face, leans over Loki and says, “You look good in anything.”

Loki lifts a foot and presses it flat against Tony’s stomach, preventing the man from moving any closer (and from putting him in a _very_ uncompromising situation). He lets the jersey rest on his chest as he whines, “My favorite number is nine.”

Tony laughs, catches Loki’s ankle in his hand and pulls him to the edge of the bed, rumpling the sheets under his back as he does. He basically ignores Loki’s attempts at distance by bending at the waist and planting his hand next to the man’s head, and _oh God_ ,Loki’s going to die. Yeah, he’s going to die. Thanks, Tony.

“Take your shirt off and put the jersey on, or I will,” Tony orders in a deceptively calm voice. Loki knows him well enough to be certain that he’s just cracking up on the inside, though, because how can he _not_ be getting the biggest kick out of making Loki, who is normally as cool as a cucumber, go fucking nuts because, uhm, _he’s halfway between his legs_ and pretty much _pinning him to the bed_. It’s like foreplay, only worse because no sex follows.

“That might not be so bad,” Loki teases, smiling slowly.

Now, if the script Loki’s writing in his head actually plays out, what would basically happen is this: Loki uses Tony’s grip on his ankle as leverage and hooks his leg around Tony’s back, right? He forgets the jersey and kisses Tony, and Tony automatically chooses Loki over the game because _come on_ , Loki is _way_ more important than football; agreed? So the game is obsolete and, at the risk of being risqué (ohoho), Loki and Tony occupy their time doing other things (cough _eachother_ cough), Thor and Steve cry a river over the absence their cheerleaders, and everything is smooth sailing because this is a story for the ages.

But because this _isn’t_ a story for the ages and Loki is still scared, still trying to make his brain do the job his heart is supposed to, things don’t happen that way. Instead, Loki just watches Tony grin at him as he yanks his ankle out of his grasp, pushes the man up with a hand on his chest as he himself sits upright. He lets the touch linger, and _damn_ , their flirting has never been _this_ hot, never been so much _fun_.

(Fun Fact which also functions as an FYI: Don’t doubt that Loki has always loved Tony, because he has, and it’s obvious. He still loves him now for all the same reasons and, more or less, in the same way. But suddenly there’s _this_ : this sudden, random, unsettling passion that accentuates rather than alters the way he feels. To put it simply, as opposed to changing the flavor of the entire cake by adding an ingredient, there’s just a different frosting, and more of it to boot.)

“I think I can manage to change my clothes on my own,” Loki says, stretching the jersey between his hands in a deliberately coy manner. Where did the temperature go? Oh yeah, through the roof.

Tony raises an eyebrow and reaches forward to grasp the hem of the jersey in one hand, tugs at it and asks, “You sure you don’t need help?”

Normally, Loki wouldn’t care to have such a superficial conversation with someone. I mean, just _look_ at their words and their words only and tell me they don’t read empty and pretentious. But then again, they really aren’t empty if you consider how full of each other their speakers are, and Loki is very used to playing this game with Tony, if not accustomed to the actual dialogue. Tony’s the one who can talk about nothing for hours and never tire of it; Loki supposes that’s why they talk so flippantly so often.

“I’ll give you a holler if I do,” Loki replies. Before Tony can take advantage of the hold he has on him, Loki darts to the head of the bed and proceeds to slip his V-neck off. He replaces the discarded shirt with Tony’s jersey, his movements intentionally slow. It’s torture at it’s very best.

“You’re evil,” Tony sighs as he makes his way to the connected bathroom, and Loki doesn’t refrain from watching him like a predator watches prey, observing. If Loki walks like a cat, Tony walks like a panther. If Loki moves like a tango, Tony moves like a waltz. It’s an interesting thing to notice.

“You still love me!” Loki calls after his friend, grinning felinely. He grabs his shirt from where it lies in a rumpled pile on the mattress, folds it neatly out of habit, and slides off of the bed to amble towards Tony’s awfully untidy desk. Thinking of it only for a fleeting, inconsequential moment, Loki indiscriminately merges one stack of paper (that has a blueprint for another one of Tony’s numerous, unfortunately discarded inventions on top) with another to clear a spot and place his shirt there. He digs through the top drawer of the desk, grabs a pastel green sticky note, and snatches a pen from the pencil cup, and it’s almost hilarious how easily he can navigate Tony’s workspace. No matter what kind of monster mess it morphs into, Loki can find what he’s looking for with no trouble at all.

Anyways, Loki scribbles a note to Tony requesting that he return his shirt should it be forgotten (which it probably will be) in his slanted, thin handwriting. This is one of those moments when Loki really _hates_ his left-handedness, because it’s forcing him to rest his whole arm on a pile of junk, and that’s extremely uncomfortable. He sticks the note on the front of his shirt and puts the pen back in its proper place. Then he plops into Tony’s desk chair and clicks his computer’s screensaver off, only to be blinded by the suddenly bright _Lock_ screen.

“Tony, can I use your computer?” Loki loudly inquires, idly running his fingers over the keys. He asks because he knows that Tony changes his password every week or so.

“Yeah. The password is _Scarlett_ , capital _S_ and two _t_ ’s,” Tony replies from the bathroom.

Loki smiles a bit as he types the name in, asking, “Is there any reason behind that?”

“I remembered you talking about _Gone With the Wind_ awhile ago,” Tony says, “Next week, I’m changing the password to _Rhett_.”

Loki hums with amusement, pulling up Tony’s internet browser (which is Firefox, by the way, versus the Google Chrome Loki has on his own computer) and methodically going through a list of actions he’s come to automatically do every time he goes online:

1\. Check his Facebook: No notifications; how surprising. A poke from Tony. An application request from Frigga to play _Mob Wars_ (oh my _God_ ) and an astrology update on his wall. There’s also a lot of bullshit about the homecoming game and how excited everyone is for it in Loki’s news feed.

2\. Check his e-mail: Three spam messages (that should have been automatically discarded, _grr_ ), two annoying forwards from Frigga, and _oooh_ , an actual e-mail from good-old cousin Freyr (who really isn’t _that_ good and could be more accurately described as a self-interested, promiscuous douche). Loki swiftly reads over the message, discerns that Freyr is politely inquiring about how his school year has been, and _Is living with Thor as bad as I think it is lolololoooool?_ , and _Have you finally gotten a girlfriend Keys? Or is it a boyfriend lolololoooooooool?_ , and _When are you gonna have me over? Haven’t seen you in forever looooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooool_.

3\. Check his _other_ e-mail: There’s nothing interesting there.

4\. Get on Tumblr: Loki is a bored Tumbler; meaning, he gets on when there’s nothing else for him to do. Now he just scrolls down his dashboard and opens the reblog link for anything he finds interesting in a new tab, laughs at the funny things that pop up every now and then. His URL is _blue-skywalker_ , and he has one hundred and sixteen followers.

Loki is in the middle of reading a wordy rant about beauty in society when Tony beckons him, calls, “Loki? I need a little help.”

“Okay,” Loki responds a little distractedly, rapidly skimming through the rest of the post before rising from his seat and walking over to the bathroom. He refrains from groaning and/or laughing when he sees just _what_ Tony is doing.

“I can’t get my neck,” Tony explains, automatically shoving a can of red body paint at Loki. Loki absently juggles the can, grinning a bit as Tony lifts his chin to expose a patch of bare skin surrounded by scarlet. He decides he’s going to ratchet the tension up about a thousand notches simply because he can, and before he actually starts going to work on Tony (not in _that_ way, you perverts), he presses a quick kiss to the untouched spot on Tony’s neck.

“Why don’t you just marry me now, huh?” Tony asks with a trace of anxiety as Loki gives the can a vigorous shake and begins to spray its scarlet contents onto his skin.

“Because there’s a fine line between work and play,” Loki replies. He grasps Tony’s shoulder with his free hand to steady himself as he covers half of the man’s neck with paint, keeping consistent with the way his face is already decorated.

“Okay, less vague?” Tony prompts, watching Loki carefully. They both _love_ to be difficult, have you noticed?

Loki sighs quietly, clarifies, “Because it’s a lot different to be serious than to fool around.”

“And you’re trying to figure out which one you like better?” Tony questions.

“Yes,” Loki answers, pausing to shake the can again. He meets Tony’s eyes as he does this, and _fuck_ , Tony’s doing that thing where he’s turns into this marble statue and you can’t tell _what_ he’s feeling, _ugh_. It’s like something similar he does when he’s drunk (remember?), but less intimidating and more infuriating.

“How do you know which one is better if you haven’t done both?” Tony asks, and he briefly raises an eyebrow for emphasis. He’s not saying this in an instigating or implicating way, and Loki _is_ thankful for that, but he has this ear-to-head filter thing going on that turns any interrogation into something deeper, simply because it seems like every time someone asks him a question, they’re trying to say something in an indirect, inoffensive manner.

“Imagination,” is Loki’s response. He continues to spray past Tony’s collarbone, staying carefully inside the imaginary line that splits Tony’s body in two.

“Good answer,” Tony acknowledges. He shifts a bit, ticklish (but not like Loki, oh _God_ no), as Loki begins to spray his shoulder, his arm, his side. He laughs, “I didn’t ask for all this.”

“But you wanted it,” Loki points out, stopping to walk around Tony and jiggling the spray can. He slides his hand around Tony’s shoulder to accommodate his new position, watches the way Tony twitches almost imperceptibly when he glances sideways at him.

“And you’re just all about what I want,” Tony jokes, smirking for a moment before turning away. Was there some wistfulness in that? Maybe a little. Not enough to worry Loki; Tony is always a bit melancholy, when you think hard about it. If you look at his eyes as often as Loki does, it’s tough _not_ to notice as well as tough to be terribly affected by it.

“You know it,” Loki throws right back before he starts to cover half of Tony’s back with red. Tony goes still and silent as Loki meticulously finishes his task, only shifting when the man grazes a sensitive area with the spray.

After he’s sufficiently pleased with his paint-job, Loki moves to drop the can on the counter. He points at a nearly identical container marked with gold and inquires, “You need me to do the other half?”

Tony grabs the can and starts to shake it, grinning in a way that looks forced but really isn’t because he’s _Tony_ and has a tendency to make expressions like that. He says, “I got it. Unless I have trouble with my neck again, I think I’m fine.”

Loki returns the smile and pushes himself up on the marble countertop, asks, “Do you mind if I get on my soapbox?”

“Go ahead, man,” Tony says as he snatches up a color-spattered rag and sprays liquid gold into it. He dabs the paint on his clean cheek as Loki begins to speak.

(Fun Fact: If you’re wondering why Loki talks so much around Tony, it’s for two reasons. One: they’re best friends, _duh_. Two: Loki doesn’t feel as comfortable with anybody else, save his mother, to just peel away any inhibitions he has and speak his mind, relentlessly. Even Frigga makes him pause and consider his words every now and then, because she’s very similar to most people in the way she automatically forms opinions about what he says whether she means to or not. Tony doesn’t do that. Tony just absorbs the information and, if Loki urges or it’s appropriate in a Tony sort of way, offers his input. There’s no boundary between what Loki is saying and what’s proper or acceptable to Tony, because when Loki loses his restraints, Tony loses his prejudices. Not even Frigga can make Loki feel so secure with talking about anything and everything. Loki doubts anyone ever will, even Thor.)

“I think it’d be fun to get some fluorescent paint and a couple of black lights and go crazy,” Loki says, scooting back against the mirror behind him.

“I think I have some fluorescent paint in the basement,” Tony comments, closing his eye to rub paint over the lid, “I’m not sure about the black lights, though.”

“We need to look for that,” Loki replies, leaning his head into the glass. He pauses for a moment and lets his mind wander until it settles on another topic, then says, “Have you ever thought about what it would be like to fall asleep and not wake up for a long time?”

“Did you know that people who sleep more than eight hours a day are more likely to develop Parkinson’s?” Tony asks instead of answering, and when Loki deftly hooks a toe in one of his belt loops and yanks him against the counter (he’s got mad ninja skills, you see?), he chuckles, “Sometimes. Why?”

“Because it would be great to just live in your head for month or so, then wake up to find everything different,” Loki muses, watching Tony take the gold-marked paint can and start to carefully spray his neck.

“I think it would be confusing,” Tony says over the obnoxious noise of the atomizer.

“Only because you’d have to learn about everything you missed,” Loki indicates, “But that’s part of what makes it so interesting.”

“You _could_ just go back to sleep,” Tony puts in, making a face in the mirror at the spot he’s missing on his neck, _again_.

“True,” Loki agrees, and he scoots down the counter so that’s he’s in front of Tony, takes the can from his hands, and tips his chin up with a gently pushing finger. He easily covers the exposed patch of skin as well as the rest of Tony’s neck before he’s handing the paint back and returning to his previous location.

“ _Thank you_ ,” Tony drawls in an exaggerated fashion, smirking at Loki.

“You’re very welcome,” Loki says, switching back into talk-mode with, “Why do you think people have different voices?”

“It’s in their DNA,” Tony answers simply.

“Well, everything is in a person’s DNA,” Loki protests, runs a hand through his hair, “But _why_? Why do parents and their children have different voices even though they share pieces of DNA? Why is it possible for a mother with a deep voice to give birth to a daughter with a high voice?”

“Because their vocal strings are tuned differently like a guitar,” Tony snarks, shrugging as he sprays across his shoulder, “I have no idea. Ask your anatomy teacher next semester.”

“Why do people have different accents, I wonder?” Loki goes on, “I mean… a piece of land can’t tell you to talk a certain way as soon as you get there.”

“Maybe it has to do with the way the native language is spoken,” Tony says, even though he knows Loki’s brain is working at high-speed and is probably not going to slow down too long for his reflections unless he says something completely ridiculous.

“But people in England and America both speak English, and _they_ have different accents,” Loki points out, “And people in France and Canada both speak French, and _they_ have different accents. And words are spelt differently, and the same words mean different things.”

“That’s because of slang,” Tony informs.

“Yes, but _why_?” Loki asks. He’s aware that he’s being overly critical and tricky, but Tony doesn’t care, and he’s on a roll. He says, “Did you know that in France, _les gens_ means _the people_ , but in Louisiana, _le monde_ means the very same thing? And _le monde_ means _the world_ in proper French.”

“Maybe the language got distorted over time,” Tony says, “It’s not like the Cajuns could telephone France and ask what this means and what that means, and remember that French was passed down from generation to generation, which got harder to do when the English and Spanish assholes came down to Louisiana and made everyone speak _their_ language.”

Loki stops at that, looks hard at Tony. He smiles at the deduction, mostly since he already knew all of that (it was one of the first things his middle school French teacher covered when she talked about the difference between proper French and Cajun French), and also because part of the reason why he pulled the language card was to prompt Tony into saying something brilliant like what he just did. See what I mean about it being fun to play with Tony?

“What?” Tony asks when he meets Loki’s eyes, and the question only makes Loki smile more.

“I was just thinking about genes,” Loki lies, but _oh!_ it’s another wonderful, random thing to talk about.

“You look at me and you think of _genes_?” Tony questions, voice full of skepticism, “And I’m assuming you’re talking about _trait_ kind of genes and not the designer ones I have in my closet.”

Loki chuckles with pleasure, toes at Tony’s thigh and replies, “ _Yes_ , I’m talking about traits, and _yes_ , I thought of genes. You have very good ones.”

Tony’s expression softens into an exasperated smile as he says, “I got all of them from my dad.”

“I’m sure you didn’t,” Loki eases, well-aware that Tony hates seeing his father every time he looks in the mirror. That must hurt. Loki tilts his head a bit, says, “I thought your father’s eyes were blue.”

Tony pauses and watches Loki before he muses, “You’re right.”

Loki thanks a higher power for his awesome memory (Honestly, the only time he’s ever seen Howard Stark was when he was looking through pictures on Tony’s computer and found an image of a much younger Tony sandwiched between who could only be his parents. The main reason why Loki opened the file in the first place was because he thought that Howard actually _was_ Tony judging from the thumbnail; the stance and appearance of the man was almost startlingly identical to his son’s.), goes on, “You have your mother’s eyes.”

“Hers are darker,” Tony argues as he sprays down his chest and abdomen, “My eyes probably come from her side of the family, though.”

“What are you?” Loki asks, and when Tony gives him a funny look, he clarifies, “Ethnically, I mean.”

“Irish and Russian on my dad’s side, Italian and Scottish on my mom’s,” Tony answers, “I don’t know if it shows or not.”

“The Italian does,” Loki says, idly swinging his legs. He usually doesn’t do that, thinking it looks ridiculous, but Tony doesn’t care, so he won’t either.

“What about you?” Tony questions as he sprays up his side.

“English and Australian from Father and Italian and Irish from Mother,” Loki replies after a moment of thought, mocking Tony with, “I don’t know if it shows or not.”

Tony briefly studies his face, assesses, “I can see the English in you.”

Loki makes this irritated noise and says, “The English are the most blandly-featured people in the world.”

Tony raises his eyebrows in protest and shakes his paint can as well as his head, disagrees, “Some English people are fucking gorgeous, Loki. You being one of them.”

“I’m technically _not_ English,” Loki says, and he can’t help but grin at the unexpected and _amazing_ compliment.

“But you have English heritage,” Tony points out (jeeze, look at how many times they’ve said _English_ in the last couple of minutes). He pushes the can in his hand at Loki, asks, “Can you get my back?”

Loki nods and takes the can, gestures for Tony to come closer and turn around. He starts to cover the naked half of Tony’s back with gold paint and prompts, “Do you know what I wonder about sometimes?”

“What’s that?” Tony asks.

“Why I don’t look like _anyone_ in my immediate family,” Loki says, “You’ve seen Mother, you’ve seen Thor, and I think I’ve shown you a picture of Father, right?”

“You have,” Tony confirms, trembling sensitively when Loki sprays just under his shoulder blade. It’s a little peculiar that he hasn’t actually met Odin yet, considering he’s been to Loki’s childhood home about seven times before. Granted, five of those visits were paid late at night, when Odin was fast asleep and Frigga was being the covert double-agent she usually is, and Loki was terrified because Tony was on the verge of overdosing and very, _very_ sick. The other two times were in the middle of the day and served as initiation ceremonies for Tony; Frigga was dead-set on welcoming him into their family when he didn’t have anyone else playing that part for him.

“I don’t look like them,” Loki sighs, frowning a bit, “They all have creamy or golden skin and light hair. Look at _me_.”

“I do, very often. It’s pretty fun,” Tony puts in, choosing to ignore the figurative nature of Loki’s statement. He says this to add light to the situation, but it doesn’t really help.

Loki disregards Tony’s comment in turn and goes on, “I was born with raven black hair and snow white skin. What went wrong with _my_ genes?”

“Maybe you were one of those babies that got all the rare, hidden traits in your family’s gene pool,” Tony says, “Do your grandparents look like you?”

Loki shrugs a little even though Tony can’t see him, replies, “Not my maternal ones, which are the only ones I’ve ever met. My cousin looks a little like me, though.”

“See?” Tony hums, glancing over his shoulder when Loki ceases his spraying. After a quick glance in the mirror, he realizes that Loki is finished and turns to face his friend.

“But he’s… built just like everyone else in my family,” Loki says, dropping the paint can next to him on the marble, “Strong and tall.”

“You’re tall,” Tony points out, scratching through his paint-flecked hair.

“And thin as a toothpick, with not a trace of physical eminence to be found,” Loki argues. It’s like there’s two things that set him apart from his family for every one attribute he might happen to share with them. You know those pictures and lists you would get in school, where you’d have to pick out which item didn’t belong with the group? Loki feels like he’s playing that game every time he looks at a family picture, and the answer is always himself.

“There has to be _someone_ in your family like that,” Tony says with a scowl, watching Loki with the most despondent expression on his face.

“There isn’t,” Loki insists, “They’re all athletic and golden and built like Greek gods, and I’m bookish and dark and built like–”

“A supermodel?” Tony interrupts. Before Loki can squabble anymore, he moves to stand in front of him, holds the man’s hands against the countertop and says, “Forgive me for cutting this short, but I _really_ don’t like it when you do this self-loathing thing.”

“I don’t hate myself,” Loki protests, and that’s only somewhat true. Sometimes, like now, he really _doesn’t_ despise himself. Other times, he can’t _stand_ the fact that he exists.

“No?” Tony replies with doubt obvious in his voice, because he knows perfectly well how Loki can be self-deprecating, untruthful, or both of these things at once.

“I just… I’m expressing unhappiness with my apparent inability to fit in with anyone, especially my family,” Loki explains, looping his legs loosely around Tony’s waist and tugging him closer. Tony automatically obliges, always eager to be as close as possible to him.

“That just means you’re unique, Loki,” Tony offers, smiling a little. This is a pretty good example of reason number thirteen why Loki loves Tony Stark: no matter how negative he can be about absolutely _anything_ (and Tony _can_ be that way), most of all himself, he’ll always find something positive in Loki.

“Have I ever told you about the time Thor and our cousins put me on trial and found me guilty of _bossiness_ , _delinquency_ , and _general tomfoolery_?” Loki asks abruptly, the memory springing to mind in light of the general thoughts of alienation and estrangement floating through his head. What makes this particular event stand out so much in his psyche is the period in his life in which it happened (he was ten years-old, and can you imagine what that kind of instigation does to a child that young?) and the fact that it was the first time he’d ever felt _different_ from Thor and his cousins in a way that wasn’t good.

Tony makes this ridiculous face, laughs almost guiltily and says, “No?”

Loki concedes, “I’ll have to tell you that story one day.”

“Why not today?” Tony asks, absently drumming his fingers against the tops of Loki’s hands. Agitation; he wants a cigarette.

“Because we’re on a schedule,” Loki replies, nodding towards the clock next to the doorway. Tony twists his upper body around to glance at the time for a moment before looking back at Loki and shrugging airily.

“We’ll make it on time. Plus, I’d choose listening to you talk over a football game any day,” Tony says, smiling in the cavalier way he does when he’s flirting. That implies that he doesn’t mean what he’s saying and is only saying it to gain Loki’s favor, _or_ , that he _does_ mean what he’s saying and is being playful about it. There’s a fifty percent chance of either of these being true, because Tony and Loki are very alike in the way they lie and charm others into pleasing them.

“You’re wonderful. Don’t stop,” Loki teases right back, pulling his hands free and reaching to rest them at the base of Tony’s neck. This is where Loki fares better at his job of perpetually beguiling his ‘ _victims_ ’; he’s a lot smoother and a lot more willing to touch.

Tony’s back straightens as he says, “I know what you’re doing.” He’s watching Loki’s face carefully now, searching for tells.

The funny thing is, Loki doesn’t have any.

“Tell me what I’m doing, then,” Loki hums, dragging Tony even closer to him, if possible, until the man’s abdomen hits the edge of the counter. He tightens his legs around Tony’s waist, and _oooh_ , he’s never done anything like _that_ before. That’s kind of why he’s doing it, actually.

“You’re trying to distract me,” Tony replies with an air of matter of fact-ness, like he automatically knows he’s right simply because he can say he is. One of the weird things about Tony is his self confidence, which is like the Colossus of Rhodes in the way it has the capacity to be massive and sturdy, yet inevitably torn down. Right now it’s in the _massive and sturdy_ phase.

“Wrong,” Loki laughs, moving his hands up into Tony’s hair. Tony’s focus falters at that, and he gets this slightly glazed-over look in his eyes that wouldn’t be apparent if Loki wasn’t looking for it, trying to draw it out. Loki brushes his fingers over Tony’s scalp, falls in love with the way it’s driving Tony wild. This is a good sign.

“Well, you’re succeeding at doing just that,” Tony groans, moving his hands to rub up Loki’s back. He’s tracing his digits over the knobs of Loki’s spine through the thin jersey he wears (which smells _so much_ like Tony, so much that it’s almost illegal that he should be doing this), and _yeah_ , that feels _really_ nice.

Loki doesn’t respond by speaking. He’s heeding Tony’s words from earlier when he cranes his neck and kisses the man, firm and deep. Thank God the paint is dry.

Tony emits one of those ridiculous noises he makes when Loki decides to do something crazily, intensely physical and _way_ past the line of friendship, like now. His grip tightens on Loki’s back, and there’s no hesitation or uncertainty when he sucks at Loki’s bottom lip, licks along the rim of his mouth. Where Tony used to exercise caution or something like it whenever things like this happened, he apparently doesn’t care that much anymore. Loki thinks it has to do with the fact that Tony knows he has him wrapped around his finger now.

And Loki is sliding his tongue into Tony’s mouth with a breathy moan ( _guh_ , that’s got to be the hottest thing that’s ever happened to him, including that time he and Thor burned themselves and got candle wax and blood on the ceiling) when a thought comes slamming into him like a goddamn train, throwing him completely off-track and unsettling him like nobody’s business. Fuck hyperactive minds.

What if he ends up not wanting this? As hard as it is to believe that he might not become addicted to Tony like a drug, you never know what kind of feelings could surface after something like a kiss spirals out of control and turns into a much bigger monster. But then, you have to think about Steve and Thor, who are the only reasons why Tony and Loki are even going to this ridiculous homecoming game instead of taking advantage of the night and of each other (always count on them to be the sea keeping Tony and Loki apart). Steve and Thor are huge excuses for Loki and Tony, respectively, to get together as well as to not. Also, this feels _amazing_ ; too amazing to lose and stay mentally healthy.

 _That’s_ why Loki is doing this. This isn’t a playful kiss. This is sampling.

Loki pulls away, sighing heavily. He and Tony are both panting a little bit, and Loki thinks that the way oxygen seems to escape them whenever they’re this close means _something_.

“That didn’t feel like _fooling around_ ,” Tony gasps, fixing Loki with a look that says _You better explain that or I’m never going to let you live this down_.

“That’s because it wasn’t,” Loki replies, moving his hands out of Tony’s hair and pushing the man away so he can slide off of the counter. Tony’s expression morphs into a blatant _What the fuck?_ face.

“What?” Tony asks, and before Loki can make a move of any kind, he plants his hands on the edge of the marble at either side of the man, effectively trapping him.

“I’m using my imagination,” Loki says, makes use of his awesome persuasive skills and curls his forefingers in the front of Tony’s waistband; that’s all it takes, and Tony’s gone again, “You asked me how I’d know whether I liked being serious or playing games better if I didn’t do both, didn’t you?”

Tony nods, relocating his hands to Loki’s hips (they’re getting bolder with every touch, can you tell?) and sighing, “I think I remember that.”

Loki smirks, explains, “ _That’s_ what I’m doing.” He mimics Tony and grasps the man’s hips, uses the leverage to make a one-hundred and eighty degree turn and push Tony against the counter. Then, because he’s an eternal coward and a ruthless tease, he walks away, out of the bathroom. Harsh move, man.

“Loki, you can be horrible sometimes, you know that?” Tony calls after him, and because he’s sort of following Loki as he says this, his voice fluctuates in volume in that weird way that lets you know how far you are from a person. He stops in the doorway of the bathroom and watches Loki plop down on his bed.

“If I’m so dreadful, why do you keep me around?” Loki asks. They’re slipping back into that plastic-y talk from earlier, losing that heavy, hot weight that regularly decides to drop in and crush them.

“That’s a stupid question,” Tony huffs, crosses his arms, “You know why.”

Loki nods ruefully, and really, this situation _isn’t_ as sad as it seems to be. It _isn’t_ , especially because it was bound to happen. He says, “I do.”

 

 ~*~

 

Tony smokes while he drives. He also tells Loki to stop messing with his face, because he’s touching his cheeks and turning his fingers black.

“You’re going to mess the lines up,” Tony says around the cigarette in his mouth. His hair is streaked with the colors that are all over his body, and he looks like a red and gold titan-turned-what? Redneck? Too harsh, and Tony could _never_ look like a redneck, honestly. Surfer? That might be more accurate, especially considering where he comes from (which is Malibu). I’m just going to go ahead with football stan, even though Tony really _isn’t_ a huge football fan at all. He enjoys the hype more than the game, actually. Anyways.

“Good,” Loki replies, flipping the sun visor down to check out his reflection. The thick black lines on his cheeks are just as they were when Tony grabbed him and smeared them on; dark, straight, and useless. He’s not going to be on the field kicking the other team’s ass, so _why_ does he need this shit?

Tony blindly reaches over and folds the visor back up in a way that’s so flawless and precise you could shoot yourself in the face. As Loki turns to glower at him, Tony’s hand briefly moves to rub under his chin, perfectly aimed even while the man watches the road. He says, “Leave it alone. It’s fine.”

“Just because you’re all made up doesn’t mean I have to be,” Loki protests, catching Tony’s retreating wrist in his hand and pressing his thumb against his radial artery (aka, those thick veins that bulge from your arm; your pulse point).

“Sure it does,” Tony throws back. He lets his arm go limp in Loki’s grasp instead of pulling it away, plucks his cigarette from his mouth to exhale a cloud of smoke when he brings the truck to a stop.

“Who says?” Loki challenges. It’s a petty, immature question he used to ask Thor all the time just to prove him wrong. It always worked.

“ _I_ say, and you know I’m always right,” Tony teases, glancing at Loki and giving him this arrogant smirk that’s both charming and annoying as fuck.

“Oh, yes. Anthony Stark is _always_ right,” Loki says, letting go of Tony’s hand and lowering the sun visor again. It’s kind of a bitchy thing to say when Tony hates his given name _so **much**_ (like, he seriously _loathes_ it), but Tony knows better than anyone how to identify a joke.

“Damn straight,” Tony laughs. He watches Loki glare at his reflection and smokes his cigarette, grinning the whole time.

When they get to the football field, everybody is fucking _wild_. There are people who are costumed much crazier and much worse than Tony, noise is _everywhere_ , and the whole area is teeming with life and movement. On the visitor side of the field is a whole other student body, generally calmer and quieter than EU’s matriculates.

Loki feels like a leper or a pariah as Tony leads him through the mass of screaming, laughing, talking people to the ticket window, because he’s too quiet and too weird and too horribly uninterested in _everything_ going on around him. The only thing that’s keeping him _here_ is Tony’s arm around his shoulders and the thought of how much Thor wanted him to come, enough to crawl into his bed and keep him from sleep for about an hour and a half with meaningless talk and childish prodding.

Loki and Tony are in line for tickets when somebody _stabs_ Loki in the back with their finger, or some other kind of pointy appendage, and I say _stab_ because the ‘ _poke_ ’ is hard enough to hurt a _whole fucking **lot**_. _And_ , you _don’t_ touch Loki when he least expects it. Hell to the fuck no.

So Loki’s fixing to whirl around and maul a motherfucker when another arm (physical contact, _ugghhh_ ) slides around his torso and there’s a voice in his ear going, “Hey, kitten.”

Guess who?

Now, just to be clear, touching Loki like _that_ is a really stupid thing to do when he’s with Tony, and so close to him, too. Lots of people know that Tony is actually pretty insane, and that’s why it’s common sense to not get on his bad side. When you do, he’ll ruin you in some kind of way. This one time last year, Clint and Bruce trashed his car and ended up with Nair in their shampoo as well as their own vehicles completely murdered out and with slashed tires; Tony even wrote letters to them and stuck them to their windshields like parking tickets. Emma Frost once blackmailed him into taking the blame for vandalizing the science building. Tony miraculously got a hold of pictures of her and Angel Salvadore making out and e-mailed them to everyone he knew at EU in retaliation. When Loki asked him how he managed to do such a thing, Tony only told him that it involved a lot of alcohol and serenading.

In short, you don’t fuck with Tony Stark. And, as we all know, fucking with Loki is equivalent to fucking with Tony, and vice-versa, in both of their books.

Tony’s arm flies off of Loki’s shoulders, and he’s moving to confront the situation as Loki sighs, “Hello, Fandral.”

Yes, it’s Fandral. Yes, Loki’s still uncomfortable with the man _touching_ him (only because he knows how Fandral actually _wants_ to touch him). Yes, suddenly he’s surrounded on all sides by _Thor’s_ friends, who have spontaneously decided to make it their life’s mission to become his BFFs. Yes, Tony’s face gets a little surprised, taken aback, and intimidated by Loki’s position, squished between Fandral and Volstagg (who both have their bodies painted like Tony’s, but in a much sloppier style). Yes, Tony looks a little hurt, and this is horrible because Loki’s stuck in a _This isn’t what it looks like, please believe me oh God_ situation.

“Thor got you to come out!” Fandral laughs, Volstagg echoing his airy chuckling soon after, and Loki really wishes the former would let him go, because, by the expression on his face, Tony’s going to _die_ if he doesn’t get Loki back all to himself. It’s like Fandral has stolen Tony’s favorite toy and the world is ending because of it.

“Tony did, too,” Loki replies a little roughly, looking Fandral directly in the face. He does that to hide the insecurity and discomfort he truly feels, to please Fandral with his supposed full attention. He says that to relocate Fandral’s focus to Tony, to tell him that _hey, my best friend that’s more special than you is right there_ and _you’ll soon discover that he’s not too happy_ , and to indirectly let Tony know that _I’m only for you_.

Fandral looks over to Tony, then, and Loki is expecting one of two reactions from the man. The first of these is this pseudo-aggressive front most males do when their ' _territory_ ' is threatened, where words become sparse and glaringly hostile. The second is super-duper friendliness. Loki is personally betting on the first.

But, no, it turns out to be the second, because Fandral grins and asks, “You’re Tony Stark?” This is a little funny that they’re introducing themselves when a week ago, Tony _shoved_ Fandral against a mob of people to get to Loki. Remember that at the party? I bet Fandral does. Also, you have to take into account that Tony probably still wants to kill Fandral for kissing Loki, because he hasn’t heard about their little heart-to-heart thing or whatever the hell that was.

Tony blinks, and only the minute clenching of his jaw tips you off to how _antagonistic_ he’s feeling right now. He replies, in a voice so lukewarm it _hurts_ , “That’s my name. I don’t think I’ve ever heard of _you_.”

Okay, Tony. We know you know that you’re semi-famous (for being crazy and _rich_ ) around campus. You don’t have to act like an asshole about it.

But he’s only being a prick because Fandral is walking all over his ‘ _turf_ ’, and while Loki doesn’t enjoy being viewed as a prize to be won, he knows that Tony is wired to think that way in situations like this.

Fandral doesn’t take any offense to the comment, surprisingly (Loki’s pretty sure it’s because he doesn’t mind Tony’s opinion of him), and he goes ahead and identifies himself with, “I’m Fandral, a friend of Thor and Loki.”

Uhm. Since when are Loki and Fandral _friends_? Just because Loki can have a pleasant conversation with you and you can spill your guts to him doesn’t imply that you’re his friend. Anyone that knows Loki knows that words mean almost nothing to him. Only actions count. Plus, at the risk of repeating myself, Tony is harboring homicidal feelings towards Fandral that, as far as he knows, Loki shares. He’s probably convinced that Fandral’s a lying bastard, now.

Loki watches as Fandral steps forward and holds his hand out for Tony to shake, letting go of him as he does, _thank God_. Tony stares between the man’s hand and his face with a passive expression, like he’s honestly not at all interested in being polite. When he glances at Loki for a moment, Loki fixes him with this look that says _Behave, please_ , because he really doesn’t want Thor’s friends to think Tony is some loaded, well-to-do shithead that doesn’t care for people that much (which he kind of is, but let’s just say he isn’t). They could go complaining to Thor about that, and, while Loki is pretty fuzzy about how his brother actually feels about Tony right now (he’s guessing it’s some kind of negative, though), he doesn’t want Thor to hate the man in the event that they start fucking. In the house that they share. And loving all over each other. Again, _in the house that they share_. You understand, right?

So Tony takes Fandral’s hand and gives it a firm shake, smiles in that somewhat-forced but aesthetically pleasing way he can and says, “Nice to meet you.”

And then Volstagg, Hogun, and Sif make a show of introducing themselves to Tony, which is hilarious considering that Tony has heard horrible things about them coming from Loki’s mouth, and they’ve heard ridiculous things about him from the rest of the student body. They don’t need to get to know each other _at all_.

While this lengthy introduction takes place, Loki slowly gravitates back to Tony for the sake of both of them. This is all but ruined when the person in front of them in line _finally_ gets their ticket, and Tony is forced to address the freshman in the window (which is Bobby Drake, by the way). Fandral and Sif aren’t slow to jump on Loki in when he’s in neutral, Switzerland status.

“So you like football?” Fandral asks. You know that bad feeling you get when you think you’re bothering someone by talking to them too much? Imagine that the person you’re talking to feels _exactly_ how you think they do. That’s Loki right now.

“Not really,” Loki answers truthfully. He’s not looking at Fandral as he says this; instead, he’s observing the elegant arc of Tony’s spine, so like the subtle _S_ curve that Greek and Roman statues exhibit. Oh my God, _why_ hasn’t he tapped that yet?

“No?” Sif chuckles, and really, that’s the first time she’s ever _laughed_ and Loki’s been there to see it. It’s enough to make him tear his eyes away from Tony to look at Sif as she crosses her arms, questions, “You’re one of those sensitive, reserved types, aren’t you?”

This is new. This is _very_ new. Not only is Sif being _pleasant_ and _open_ (Loki’s mostly only been around her when she’s acted in a curt and tough manner or was eating Thor for breakfast), but she’s _cute_. Not to say she was never attractive before, because _believe me_ , Loki had to look twice the first time he saw her, what with her statuesque body and striking features. But right now, Sif’s wearing this red tank top decorated with _sparkly_ gold paint or something, with scarlet and yellow ribbons knotted on the straps, threaded through the hem, and tied in her hair. She has on a pair of shorts that look like they came from Forever 21 and gold eyeliner, _gold eyeliner_ , framing her eyes, and frankly, it’s the most overtly _feminine_ Loki’s seen her since they first met. She looks like she could be a cheerleader, or something like it.

“That sounds like me,” Loki evenly replies, and he tries not to make it too apparent that he’s _really_ fucking surprised with Sif’s appearance. He vaguely remembers Thor telling him about how glad he is that Sif is just like one of the guys, that she doesn’t have estrogen oozing from her pores and is still sufficiently _female_ , if you know what I mean. Volstagg bursts into laughter at something Hogun said behind Loki, Sif, and Fandral.

And then, before anyone can say anything further, Tony turns around with two tickets in his hands, and Loki’s attention span for Fandral and Sif diminishes a whole fucking lot.

“Voila,” Tony drawls as he hands Loki a ticket, easily sliding his arm back around Loki’s shoulders and pulling him away from the line. Ha, so much for friendliness. Now the Four Dwarves most likely believe that Tony is a possessive bastard (which again, he kind of is).

“Wait for us, okay?” Fandral _has_ to call after them as Tony is steering Loki towards the wide, crowded ramp leading up to the actual stadium. Jesus Christ, Fandral has serious potential in a career of trollin’.

Just so Tony doesn’t explode, Loki calls over his shoulder, “We’re just going to get good seats!” He doesn’t bother listening for a response, because he really doesn’t give a damn whether or not Fandral is satisfied with his actions.

Here’s the thing: Loki came to this football game for two reasons and two only, and their names are _Thor_ and _Tony_. He’s not going to sit around and trivialize this whole thing, or something. Basically, he wants to focus all of his attention on Tony and Thor; not Fandral, Sif, Volstagg, and Hogun.

“Okay, since when are you best friends with the resident rapist around here?” Tony asks with an edge of bitterness as he and Loki hand their tickets to one of a couple of students at the top of the ramp. Alison Blaire shoots Tony this bewildered look that he counters with a cocky, _Get the fuck out of my face_ smirk, and Kurt Wagner silently grins at the exchange.

“We’re not best friends,” Loki insists, taking in his surroundings. People are swarming the bleachers like lemurs in a tree, shouting in their excitement and darting around in a way that’s pretty dangerous considering the setting and high probability for accidents. A few students are selling food and drinks at the bottom of the stands. The cheerleaders are clustered together at the edge of the field below, idly stretching and conversing between themselves. And the student body of Snow University, the visiting school, lies across the pitch like a pack of wolves on a distant tundra, their colors of blue and white contrasting with the bright red and gold on the home side. Their cheerleaders almost look like toy soldiers from where Loki stands.

“Uh-huh,” Tony replies skeptically, making his way up the bleachers, “’Cause it totally didn’t look that way to me. Oh, _no_.”

Loki consciously reminds himself that Tony can be pretty jealous when he wants to be as he follows the man, says, “Fandral apologized to me on Wednesday. I guess that made him think he was allowed to molest me again.”

“Smart logic, man,” Tony snarks, glancing back at Loki for a moment.

“I never said I _enjoyed_ what he’s doing or that I forgave him,” Loki snaps. They’re nearing the top of the bleachers as he sighs, “Stop growling at me, would you? I didn’t expect Thor’s brigade to jump on me, and I don’t know why they did. I’ve been anything but nice to them.”

And that’s exceptionally, almost scarily true. Loki hasn’t shown an ounce of kindness to the lot of Thor’s friends since they began their speedy takeover of his house, possibly excluding what happened on Wednesday. He doesn’t smile at them. When he talks to them, it’s in terse and cold statements. When he looks at them, his eyes are daggers. So it doesn’t make sense _why_ they’re so interested in becoming buddy-buddy with him, unless Thor asked them to or they’re horrible at catching a hint, of course.

Tony pauses a beat, moves down to the edge of the very top bleacher and says, “Sorry. Sorry, Loki. That was pretty dickish.”

“That it was,” Loki agrees a bit emphatically, taking a seat next to Tony and automatically hating the way his position emphasizes how _big_ his friend’s jersey is on him. The way the knit fabric pools in his lap irritates the _fuck_ out of him, so he hastily bunches the hem of his shirt in the back and sits on it.

“Am I allowed to kiss you and make it better?” Tony inquires. He absently runs his thumb along his jaw, thoughtfully curls his bottom lip over his teeth, and watches Loki closely. He’s doing that zero emotion thing again, and _goddammit_ , that really bothers Loki. He’s never told Tony that it does, though.

“I don’t care,” Loki truthfully replies, enjoying the way a gust of wind stirs his hair and chills his skin. Fall is _finally_ setting in, fortunately (Loki much prefers the cool weather of autumn and winter to the draining heat of spring and summer).

“You don’t?” Tony asks, and he pulls his lighter and another cigarette out of his pocket. He fiddles with the cancer stick for a moment, waiting for Loki’s answer.

“No,” Loki says, cards a hand through his hair, “I don’t care who’s watching.” Because there _are_ three fourths of the student body all around them.

Tony hesitates again, longer this time. Loki is staring at blue and white dots of people across the football field when he feels Tony press a chaste kiss to the crest of his cheek, right above the thick black line smeared there, and he recalls a time, honestly not that long ago, when that was as the extent of their physical relationship. The thought neither pleases nor upsets him.

“You okay?” Tony asks when Loki doesn’t say anything or change his stance, “You’re not getting into one of your bad moods, are you?”

Loki laughs a bit at the question, but it’s a bitter laugh, because he knows why Tony asked what he did. It’s so easy to wound him these days, even when things are looking up in an odd sort of way.

“I’m fine,” Loki assures his friend, tucking his legs further underneath the bleacher on which he sits and idly picking at his nails. That’s not something he normally does (because when his nail polish chips he totally has the potential to go crazy), but right about now, he doesn’t really care. Plus, it’s only an opportunity to try out the bottle of electric cobalt sitting on his bathroom shelf, unopened (God, did that sound too girly? Guess what?: Loki gives no fucks.).

“Alright,” Tony says with a touch of anxiety, lighting his cigarette and taking a brief drag of it, “Just don’t go insane on me, alright?”

“And what if I’ve already done that?” Loki counters, turning to smile just a little at Tony.

Tony quickly exhales a cloud of smoke, and he looks like he’s going to answer Loki’s mostly-rhetorical question when he spots something (that’s apparently unpleasant by the look on his face) at the bottom of the bleachers. Loki follows the man’s line of sight until he notices Fandral, Sif, Volstagg, and Hogun clustered amongst the people flooding the stands. Oh, _God_.

“We have to hide,” Tony says somewhat dumbly, contradicting his own words by puffing on his cigarette like he has no intention of moving whatsoever. Okay, Tony. That’s cool.

“Oh, and how to you suppose we do that?” Loki asks sarcastically, returning his gaze to his friend, “You look like–”

“Everyone else,” Tony cuts him off, and he gestures to the mass of people around them. Loki sees about seven or eight students with their bodies painted. Alright, then.

“ _Yes_ , but how are we going to _hide_?” Loki throws back, “You say we should like we actually can.”

Tony smirks a bit around his cigarette, small streams of smoke fleeing his mouth when he chuckles quietly. He says, “We can hop under my invisibility cloak. It’s in the truck.”

Loki can’t help but break his intentionally peevish demeanor when Tony says that, and he lets out an exuberant, unanticipated laugh. Tugging at the hair swept behind his ear, he replies, “This isn’t Hogwarts, Tony.”

“Bet you wish it was,” Tony hums, keeping his eyes trained on Thor’s friends below them.

“ _Stop_ ,” Loki laughs, even though he really wouldn’t mind if the man didn’t, and he playfully bumps Tony with his hip and shoulder.

“Welp, I guess we’re just going to have to hope they don’t notice us,” Tony says with another chuckle, leaning his head against Loki’s shoulder and smoking in a way so dreadfully perfect that Loki wants to tackle him, among other things.

A few minutes later and Loki is somewhat secretly _clutching_ at Tony’s hand while Fandral, Sif, and Volstagg tell him this _wonderful_ story about an escapade with Thor, all with the excitement of four year-olds.

“So we’re all completely _stoned_ , and the only person in their right mind is Sif…” Fandral is saying. Loki is looking at him and smiling and nodding and humming in all the right places, don’t get me wrong, but inside his head, he’s actually trying to figure out why the game hasn’t _started yet_. He was convinced that his trifling with Tony would have made them either a little late or just barely on time.

“But I’m hungover,” Sif interjects. Uhm, okay.

“Yeah!” Fandral rejoins, grinning at Sif for a moment, “And we don’t want her dad to wake up and start freaking out because of all the pot in the garage.”

“What about the twins? Wouldn’t they say something?” Loki asks, because that part of the story has been nagging at him ever since Volstagg mentioned the two of them.

“They wouldn’t tell Daddy,” Sif replies, and Loki relocates his attention to her, “They’ve been smoking weed since I was sixteen, but they never did it in the house.”

“I see,” Loki says, threading his fingers with Tony’s to calm the man’s nerves, because he can just _feel_ the anxiety rolling off of him even if he’s unable to see it. That has to be the fifth cigarette Loki’s heard him light in the past ten minutes.

“Anyways, Thor, Sif, and I go to start looking for Febreeze or something, right?” Fandral continues, and Loki holds back a chuckle at that (since when will _Febreeze_ mask the smell of marijuana?), “But Thor can’t even walk. And I mean, I’ve smoked weed tons of times before, so Sif and I are doing fine, but Thor just _can’t_ stand up. Me and him are in the bathroom when he fucking stumbles over the edge of the bathtub, wraps himself in the shower curtain, and busts his head against the wall.”

Loki’s eyes get wider and wider as Fandral speaks; can you _imagine_ that mental image? Someone as massive and bulky as Thor taking a fall like _that_? Jesus Christ.

Fandral starts to laugh a little as he goes on with, “Thor bends the curtain rod like a clothes hanger, and he starts screaming _so fucking loud_ and _so fucking high_.”

“I could hear him from the garage,” Volstagg says, chortling right along with Fandral, “He sounded like a dying animal… like a, like a cat in water or something.”

“Oh my God,” Loki mumbles, and he involuntarily covers his mouth with his hand, fighting the strong urge to just start _cackling_. This is too good.

“I run into the bathroom to find Thor yelling because he’s in pain and Fandral yelling because he’s laughing so hard,” Sif puts in, “And I’m screaming at the both of them to shut up when Daddy and my younger brother come bitching down the hallway, asking _What the fuck is going on?_.”

“What did you say?” Loki asks through his fingers, a small chuckle escaping him.

“She didn’t say anything, because Thor just lets out this godlike _FUCK!_ , and suddenly I can’t breathe because I’m laughing _way_ too hard,” Fandral replies, and damn, he’s laughing pretty hard right now.

“We had to take Thor to the emergency room,” Sif chuckles, resting her jaw against her hand, “He got six stitches.”

Because the time period and circumstances of this story sound eerily familiar to Loki, he inquires, “You aren’t talking about the road trip Thor went on two summers ago, are you?”

“That’s the one,” Volstagg confirms with a grin. Shit, that man can smile and make you feel welcome like nobody else (not that Loki lets that get to him).

“Why?” Sif asks, idly pulling on her ponytail.

“Well, he came home and wouldn’t stop wearing bandanas for two weeks,” Loki answers a bit reluctantly, sheepishly, “Our mother tried everything to get them off.”

“Yep, that’s what happened after _that_ trip to the hospital,” Fandral says, scuffing a hand through his hair and sharing a knowing look with Volstagg. He says that like they’ve gone on many similar journeys before, and to be honest, Loki really doesn’t doubt that. Just think about who they are. Only for a second. It makes sense, doesn’t it?

“What did your father do?” Loki asks Sif, and don’t think that all of his questioning implies that he’s _interested_. Because he’s not. Not at all.

“Well, he yelled at the twins for about ten minutes straight, right in the middle of the ER lobby,” Sif replies, “And then he told me to try and find better friends or not bother coming back with this lot.” She gestures to Fandral, Volstagg, and Hogun with this reluctantly fond sort of smile, and it occurs to Loki how _tight_ the four – no, _five_ – of them really are.

It’s kind of hard to recognize the value of a friendship when you’re so busy hating on it all the time, but when Loki really thinks about how Thor and his friends are together (unified, lighthearted, _happy_ ), he wonders how he never noticed it before. It almost makes him jealous, considering that the last time he maintained such an awesome group companionship was when he was only a child, and he, Thor, and their cousins spent almost every hour possible together. That era ended as soon as Thor and Balder hit puberty, and an invisible line began to form between the two older boys and the younger ones: Freyr, Freya, and Loki. Anyways.

“I guess you chose the second option,” Loki notes, a bit passive and subdued now that he’s thought about the past (which _yes_ , isn’t nearly as shitty as the present, but Loki has a penchant for looking for the wrong things instead of the right ones). He subconsciously leans back towards Tony, who has remained silent and smoking like a chimney for the duration of the story being told.

Sif reveals this proud, sincere smile that’s actually pretty beautiful; beautiful enough to make Loki lament over the fact that he never sees it, she doesn’t do it that often, or both. She’s nodding in a conclusive, pleased manner when the blaring noise of an air horn rings through the air, and suddenly everyone is fucking _crazy_ , screaming their heads off and stomping like jungle animals in the bleachers. Seventy percent of the people in attendance decide to stand up for whatever reason, and Loki knows that the game is starting at last. Took it long enough, right?

“ _Finally_ ,” Tony sighs irritably, throwing his decimated cigarette butt to the ground and hastily getting to his feet. Loki feels a twinge of _negative_ at the man’s mood, ever-sensitive to Tony’s particularly radical emotions (Plus, who do you think has to deal with this situation? That’s right: Loki does.).

As Fandral, Sif, Volstagg, and Hogun rise beside him, cheering loudly, Loki reaches up to clasp Tony’s shoulder, grabbing his attention. Tony looks down at him with hard, dark eyes, and Loki is honestly thinking that if the man is going to blame _him_ for the behavior of _Thor’s_ friends, he’s leaving in a goddamn heartbeat. He doesn’t care if he has to _walk_ all the way home.

“Settle down,” Loki says, fixing Tony with a solemn, serious look. His voice is quiet, too quiet to hear over the raucous screaming all around, but Tony and him have been able to read one another’s lips since last year, when they shared a class and were forced to sit across the room from each other. They could have whole conversations without actually saying a word.

Tony bends closer to talk directly into Loki’s ear, snaps, “I’m not gonna _settle down_. I came here with _you_ , not you plus _them_.”

When Tony’s arm shoots across Loki’s chest to indicate Fandral, Sif, Volstagg, and Hogun, Loki deftly grips the man’s elbow in his hand, rubs up to his shoulder in a deliberately intimate, soothing way. He presses his lips against Tony’s earlobe and replies, “And I’m here, aren’t I? I haven’t forgotten about you.”

The tension in Tony’s body totally deflates as Loki kisses his jaw and nuzzles his cheek, and Loki does a mental jig at his successful attempt to calm him the fuck down. And you know, why _wouldn’t_ he be victorious? He’s _Loki_ , and Tony is _Tony_. Of course he won this battle; how could he not?

When Tony pulls back to look at him, he’s smirking, just enough for it to be barely noticeable, and Loki easily picks up on the thinly cloaked hunger in his expression. He tugs on Loki’s arm, orders him to, “Stand up.”

Loki smiles and follows Tony’s directions, rising to his feet and automatically looking to the field below. He watches, along with everyone else, as the Elysian Lions trample onto the pitch, expressing their passion by roaring like their team’s namesake and pumping their huge, meaty fists. Loki’s eyes quickly find Thor, most likely because the man is easily the largest member of the team, but equally possibly because he’s accustomed to recognizing his brother’s stance and gait from a lifetime of constantly watching him. Steve is right alongside Thor, so obviously the leader, the quarterback, the star.

Loki won’t ever admit it to anyone but Tony, but he secretly feels a beat of pride in his heart, for both Thor _and_ Steve (weird, right?). His face remains impassive and unaffected, though.

Then, a mass of blue and white enters the field from the opposite side, and Loki can’t help but utter a sharp noise of surprise at the mere appearance of the rival team. Oh my _God_.

“They’re fucking huge,” he muses somewhat ineloquently, because _damn_ , almost every person in the bunch looks like a hybrid between your typical football player, your typical basketball player, and a titan.

They’re absolutely _colossal_ , and their cheerleaders look like they could kick _Steve’s_ ass. Seriously.

Tony laughs at Loki’s statement as Fandral says, “They’re called the _Frost Giants_ for a reason.”

Loki looks at Fandral, makes a face and asks, “ _That’s_ the name of their team?”

Fandral glances back at Loki with an oddly joyful smile and replies, “Yep. I guess they chose it well.”

Loki returns his gaze to the field, frowning just a bit as he says, “That’s a horrible name.” Because it is, in his opinion. It’s _fitting_ , considering the size and stature of the team’s members, but it just sounds _wrong_ and _off_ to Loki.

This introductory prowling on the field continues for a few moments as the captains and referees emerge, calling each team to the sidelines. Loki watches, a little disheartened (only because the Frost Giants look completely monstrous and _oh my God_ , they’re going to lose _so **bad**_ , not that he cares), as the Elysian Lions cluster around Steve, Coach Fury, and one of the striped-shirted officials. Jean Grey squeezes her way into the middle of the herd, carrying something small and black. The team talks a minute more before giving themselves obligatory self-motivation by getting in a tight circle and shoving their hands in the middle, yelling their zeal along with their name. Jean exchanges hugs with Steve and Thor before moving further out on the field and bringing the dark object in her hands to her lips. Loki only realizes that it’s a microphone she’s holding when she starts to sing, and he internally wonders _why_ this is necessary. This is a college football game, not the freaking Super Bowl.

The spectators go silent as Jean begins with, “ _O, say can you see by the dawn’s early light, what so proudly we hailed at the twilight’s last gleaming…_ ”

Loki awkwardly watches as everyone around him raises their hands to their hearts and either cocks their chins in a show of patriotism or bows their heads to demonstrate respect. He maintains his position with a touch of discomfort, avoids any eyes that might land on him (not that there are any; everybody’s so wrapped up in their own actions).

It’s not that he’s unpatriotic, because he isn’t. I’m not saying that he _is_ particularly devoted to his country (because again, _he isn’t_ ), but he doesn’t totally loathe America, either (even though he can be rather quick to point out its flaws when he’s excited or irritated). Loki just doesn’t see the point in displaying nationalism at a _football game_ , and one of this nature, to boot.

“ _Whose broad stripes and bright stars through the perilous fight, o’er the ramparts we watched, were so gallantly streaming?_ ” Jean continues in her rich, clear voice, “ _And the rockets’ red glare, the bombs bursting in air, gave proof through the night that our flag was still there._ ”

She takes pause after that, and the still silence is incredibly tempting to Loki, begging to be broken. When he and Thor were children, they had a habit of causing disturbances whenever someone would sing the Star-Spangled Banner or recite the Pledge of Allegiance, either by making noise or generally behaving inappropriately. They still do it to this day, occasionally. However, Loki remains mute this time, unwilling to deal with whatever bullshit that could come flying his way if he didn’t.

“ _O, say does that star-spangled banner yet wave?_ ” Jean belts out, and a few shouts of approval come pealing from somewhere at Loki’s right, “ _O’er the land of the free, and the home of the brave_.”

The whole world explodes with applause and acclamation as soon as Jean’s last note comes to an end. Loki quickly sits down, honestly afraid that he’s going to fall over and die from the force of the ovation thundering around him. Once he feels safe enough to, he starts to belatedly clap along with the crowd, just as pleased with and appreciative of Jean’s performance as the rest of them (even if he _did_ think the procedure was rather redundant).

After most of the roar has died down and people have started to sit again, the cheerleaders make themselves useful (useless) by jumping around and making noise. Because it’s totally necessary that you have girls in skimpy outfits prancing about and yelling encouragement at every single sporting event _ever_ _in the world period_. That’s a waste of yet another five minutes, and Loki is seriously starting to regret his decision to attend this mess. What was he _thinking_?

Oh, yeah. That he wanted Thor to leave him alone so he could go to sleep and for Tony to love him forever. Right.

And _then_ , after a million and a half years of pointless cheering, the game _actually_ begins. This is almost worse than watching the cheerleaders, though, simply because Loki doesn’t get it. _At all_. Mostly, instead of struggling to understand, he just keeps his eye Thor and Steve doing whatever it is they do. With Steve, that mainly involves a lot of running around and passing the football, which isn’t so hard for Loki to observe. On the other hand, Thor, as the main linebacker, does a ton of tackling the shit out of people and covering Clint and Logan. Watching his brother ram into the ginormous Frost Giants is a bit more unsettling than Loki would ever be willing to say, even if he knows that Thor is entirely capable of and more than willing to hold his ground. Anyways, besides paying attention to the two most important players on the team, Loki also busies himself with enjoying Tony, Fandral, and Volstagg’s highly vociferous and totally _ridiculous_ reactions to the game.

Every time this sophomore people call Bucky kicks the ball through what Tony says is a goalpost, Tony, Fandral, and Volstagg get real excited and start clapping, or express acclaim in some other similar and exaggerated manner. Loki soon realizes that this move earns a team three points each time it’s executed, and he’s exceptionally proud of himself for figuring this out.

When Steve or Clint grabs the ball and runs into one of the two red areas at the either side of the field, the crowd goes nuts and everybody starts yelling “ _Touchdown!_ ” _That_ rewards a team six points. There’s a lot more than just field goals and touchdowns going on, but those two plays are the only ones Loki is actually able to get a grasp on. Everything else seems arbitrary to him.

At halftime, Loki is sort of-kind of _yearning_ to go home. I mean, it’s pretty fun to look at a bunch of men run around in tight pants and fight over a ball, while also watching even more people that are crazier than himself look at a bunch of men run around in tight pants and fight over a ball, but this gets to be a little tedious after an hour or so. Plus, Loki’s mind is wandering again (how _shocking_ ), and all he can think about is how lonely Fenrir must be at home and the container of strawberries in his refrigerator and the brand new paperback sitting on his desk, and how he could be doing anything but _being bored_ right now.

“Not interesting enough for you?” Sif abruptly asks him, and the question makes Loki realize that he’s completely peeled the polish off of the thumb and index finger of his left hand in his boredom. Shit, that means he’s going to have to clean _all_ of his nails; if he doesn’t, he’ll drive himself insane.

“No, not really,” Loki replies as Sif pushes Fandral to the right to take a seat next to him. He scoots over as far as he can to make more room for the woman, which really isn’t a problem, seeing as it doesn’t hurt _at all_ to be pressed up against Tony’s side. Nope, that’s totally fine.

“Do you understand football?” Sif inquires, and the way she voices the question sounds like she’s known plenty of people who have been in the same situation as Loki at the moment. She drapes her arms over her knees and leans forward; to see him better, Loki guesses.

“Not much,” Loki sighs, scraping away the layer of black paint on his middle finger, “But I think I’m catching on.”

Sif watches him for a moment before asking, “Do you want me to help you?”

“Oh, _God_ , no,” Loki answers a bit too quickly (wow, that was _polite_ ), and when Sif makes a face at his response, he quickly adds, “It would be futile. Thor and Tony have already tried explaining football to me for about a year. I’m not wired to get it with someone else’s help.”

Sif’s expression softens when he says that. She rubs a hand over her bare, goosebumped shoulder and says, “Well, I guess that makes sense. In a way.”

Loki nods in agreement and moves onto his ring finger, eyes cast down. He’s still unused to having so much conversation with anyone other than Tony or Frigga, to tell you the truth; in his experience, either the people he wants to talk to avoid him, or he avoids the people that actually seek him out. Coincidentally, the _avoider_ and _avoidee_ roles are incredibly interchangeable. For example: sometimes all Loki wants do is have a conversation with Thor (surprising, right?), and it’s usually those times when Thor doesn’t have the time of day for him. When Thor decides he actually _does_ want to talk to him, Loki isn’t the least bit interested in _looking_ at his brother (probably since he’s in a nasty mood _because_ Thor ignored him), let alone _speaking_ to him. This process then repeats _x_ amount of times and turns into a neverending cycle. See what I mean?

“You don’t really want to be here, do you?” Sif asks, and her voice is quieter, gentler, with an inflection Loki’s never heard in it before. Either he doesn’t know this woman very well or she’s just in a fantastic mood.

But then, he also considers the fact that she may be like him and have to deal with crazily varied emotions from day-to-day.

“No,” Loki replies, actually looking at Sif as he does. He feels oddly guilty saying _no_ to her so many times and in complete succession, even if he _is_ telling the truth.

Before Sif can say something in response, Fandral is asking them at a volume entirely too loud, “Are you guys hungry?”

What did I say? _Trollin’_ , man.

In total harmony, Loki and Sif shake their heads and answer, “ _No_.”

Fandral grins at the odd coincidence as Sif utters a nervous laugh and Loki bites the inside of his lip (the only other person he’s ever been able to do that with, accidentally or on purpose, is Thor, and that used to be a daily occurrence). He motions to Volstagg and Hogun and says, “We’re gonna go get something to eat, okay?”

Sif nods with a small smile, and then Fandral is off. The woman turns her attention back to Loki, eyes sparkling with amusement, and Loki can’t help but chuckle a bit at what just occurred. He’s fixing to say something about it when they’re interrupted _again_ , this time by Tony. The man steals Loki’s attention with a squeezing hand on his shoulder and says, “I’ll be right back.”

Not nearly as irritated as he would’ve been if it was anyone else bothering him, Loki leans back (but not far enough to send him plummeting off the bleachers, _oh no_ ), runs his fingers through his hair (if you’re wondering why he does that so much, just know that it’s a deeply-ingrained habit), offers Tony a hint of a smirk, and replies only slightly sarcastically, “Have fun.”

Loki foresaw the grin that takes over Tony’s face. That was extraordinarily predictable; anticipated, even. What he _didn’t_ expect was for Tony to just _smack a kiss_ on his temple, right in front of _Sif_. Believe me, this is totally different than if some random person had been watching; Sif actually _knows_ Loki.

So Loki’s just sitting there, his cheeks warmer than he’d like them to be (holy shit, he fucking _despises_ blushing, especially because his pale skin makes the redness that much more apparent) and his eyes glued to Tony’s retreating form. Sif is watching him, he can _feel_ it.

One day, Loki’s going to write a letter to the universe. The only thing in the body will be _Fuck you_.

“Is he your boyfriend?” Sif asks after a moment of silence, and the trace of laughter in her voice is just enough to make Loki look at her. She’s smiling a bit, but her expression is schooled into open passivity.

“That’s his part-time job,” Loki ends up saying, and he finds himself laughing a bit at his own answer. Wow, that was a _great_ thing to say, if not completely impulsive and unexpected.

 

Sif’s smile widens, and she chuckles, “I know how that feels.”

 

It quickly dawns on Loki that Sif is referring to herself and Thor, and he doesn’t verbalize his strong opinion that _no, she doesn’t_. He really can’t say much of Sif’s relationship with his brother, considering that he doesn’t know anything beyond what he sees and hears about it, but Loki is absolutely certain that Sif and Thor are dancing to a very different beat than the one he and Tony move to.

“What else does he do?” Sif asks, drawing Loki’s joke out.

“Well, he’s a great bodyguard and an awesome personal assistant,” Loki quips, alluding to Tony’s tendency to be overprotective and willingness to do just about _anything_ for him. He grins when Sif laughs again, more freely.

“That’s more than I could ask for,” she says, glancing out to where the cheerleaders perform a noisy, energetic routine on the field. And Loki automatically thinks two things right then:

1\. **_She’s jealous of the cheerleaders._ ** Loki isn’t investing a whole lot in this assumption because of the ample room for error, but the way Sif’s face goes hard and disapproving whenever she looks at the cheerleading squad, plus the propensity of some of its members to fawn over Thor like schoolgirls, plus what Sif’s wearing at the moment equals _jealousy_ to him. That’s all there is to it.

2\. **_Why is she talking about Thor like this to me?_** Because as much fun as it is for him to bitch and whine about Thor (it _is_ rather entertaining), Loki isn’t a fan of hearing other people diss his brother so offhandedly. Especially _Sif_ , because she’s a woman (and therefore more likely to be petty about this) and somewhat obviously besotted with Thor. If she has such a big problem with the man, she can rid herself of him. Loki would rather she do that than criticize his brother to his face, for all of their sakes.

Instead of doing what he normally would and getting nasty with Sif, Loki tempers, “It’s better to ask than to go without.”

Sif looks back at Loki with an odd expression on her face, like she’s both surprised and influenced by his statement. Loki meaningfully quirks an eyebrow at the woman before returning his attention to his nails, effectively dodging the threat of more questions or additional conversation. He’s said exactly what he needed to, and he’s just shy of prideful because of it.

Sif doesn’t say anything more to him until Tony comes back with two _huge_ cups full of some kind of soft drink (those things are almost as large as Loki’s head, he swears). As soon as Loki looks up to address Tony, he gets two handfuls ( _two_ because the cup is fucking gigantic) of _drink_ and another kiss, this time on his forehead (oh my God, this is amazing, beautiful, confusing, and mortifying all at once, and Loki absolutely loves it).

Smiling like a fool, Loki asks, “What’s this for?”

“It’s root beer, and it’s for _you_ ,” Tony replies, and Loki could just jump on him and hug him to death and _aaaggghhh_ , he’s _so wonderful_ (that’s kind of a big deal if you think about it, seeing as Loki usually isn’t willing to be that affectionate and warm with other people). Reason number twenty seven why Loki loves Tony Stark: the man has his favorite things to eat and drink completely committed to memory, one of these being root beer. It doesn’t matter that Loki isn’t thirsty. He’s going to _savor_ this gigantic cup of awesomeness.

“I love you,” Loki blurts, and he absolutely adores the way Tony grins wholeheartedly at him. Jesus Christ, he thinks he’s going to explode.

Is this a manic episode? Probably so. Does that stop Loki from thoroughly enjoying it? Not at all.

“And I love you,” Tony says. **_Oh my God_**.

Then there’s this unbearable sensation between them, because they both want to touch or hug or make out or _something_ , but Sif’s right there and they can’t and _ugh_. Yeah.

So Loki washes down a surge of _angst_ (fuck, not the emotional roller-coaster again) with a sip of glorious _root beer_ (okay, that makes everything a little better) and forces himself not to think too hard about his emotions. That’s a bit hard to do when he’s so in touch with those things, never mind how _horrible_ they are.

And then Sif says, somewhat out of the blue, “I guess you asked.”

Both Loki and Tony look at her, confused, but it doesn’t take Loki long to catch on to what she’s saying. He beams, hums, “I didn’t have to.”

Sif slowly returns his smile as Fandral, Volstagg, and Hogun come trundling back to their seats, arms full of food. She doesn’t reply, but Loki’s able to hear the silent _Lucky you_ she sends his way. He can’t help but agree.

Halftime ends and more monotonous football-playing commences. This section of the game isn’t as boring as the first one was, namely because Loki has **_root beer_** ( ** _fuck yeah_** ) and Tony’s actually talking to him this time. The only negative thing about the situation is the rapid gain of points for the Frost Giants, who are seriously taking it out of the Elysian Lions now that Thor isn’t on the field. Bruce and the rest of the defense may be great, but without Thor, they have _a lot_ of room for improvement.

About ten frustrating minutes into the play, Fandral bolts to his feet and just starts yelling, “ _Put Thor back in the fucking game!_ ”

“Fandral!” Sif complains, reaching up to grab his raised arm and attempting to lower it, “Shut up, will you?”

Tony makes an incredulous face as Fandral jerks out of Sif’s grip and completely ignores her plea by chanting, “ _Thor on the field! Thor on the field! Thor on the field!_ ”

And then Volstagg and Hogun stand up and begin to shout right along with their friend, pumping their fists to show just how _serious_ they are (because football _is_ serious business, _bro_ ). Loki, Tony, and Sif are watching the three with wide, horrified eyes, and almost everyone in close proximity to the group turns to gawk at them. _What_.

Just when Loki thinks this can’t get any worse (nothing’s worse than _attention_ , believe me), about eight people in the bleachers around them get up and start repeating the mantra, screaming like howler monkeys. The trend spreads like wildfire until over half the people in the stands are yelling their heads off, yelling for Thor.

“I guess they want Thor on the field,” Tony says oh so cleverly, and Loki chuckles at the blatant sarcasm in the man’s statement.

The frenzied shouting doesn’t stop until Thor goes running onto the field, trading places with Peter Rasputin, and his reentrance is immediately met with exclamations of approval. Loki fails to feel the enthusiasm everyone else does, because instead of seeing the invincible, unbreakable Thor Skywalker trotting onto his rightful territory, he sees his brother, growing increasingly exhausted and dragging himself into battle. He’s also sort of-kind of fretting over Steve and the rest of the team, despite the fact that they’ve been coached to plow through a game like soldiers. No amount of training can take away their humanity.

Jeeze, that was dramatic. Forget Loki ever thought that, okay?

So Thor’s back in the game, and the defense is suddenly much better with the dual force of him and Bruce. Steve, Clint, Logan, and the rest of the offense can _finally_ execute a play successfully without getting completely pulverized by the monstrous Frost Giants with Thor covering their asses.

And you know what? They win. With three field goals and a touchdown, they _win_.

The crowd _explodes_ like an atomic bomb. The cheerleaders _soar_ through the air like popcorn. The Elysian Lions _roar_. Everything is noise and excitement and _victory_ , and this time, Loki can actually _feel_ it. _Literally_ , because Tony is hugging him tighter than a vice and kissing him like he’s dying, and Sif is grasping his hand and holding it high in the air, and Fandral, Volstagg, and Hogun are squeezing all around them, raising them up, and he’s smiling so hard he feels like his face is going to go flying apart.

Everybody in the stands floods onto the field and practically _attacks_ the Lions, still screaming and cheering. Loki really doesn’t want to shove himself into that mess, but Tony, Fandral, and Volstagg are fucking _determined_ when they drag him, Sif, and Hogun directly into the mob. Thankfully, Loki doesn’t feel the brunt of the pressure, because Tony sort of acts like a human shield and takes most of the impact from the crowd. What a hero.

They gradually make it to the heart of the action, where the Elysian Lions are getting bombarded with _awesome_. Fandral, Volstagg, Hogun, and Sif peel off to find Thor, and Loki is left practically clinging to Tony, unwilling to leave his side (because doing so would surely result in death by trampling).

And then a voice is calling, “ _Tony!_ ”, and Loki is suddenly _unattached_ to his friend and so absolutely _terrified_ , ohmygod _ohmygod **ohmygod**_.

Loki whirls around to search for Tony, frantic, and he doesn’t have to look long before he finds him. Tony’s only moved about two feet away, and he’s wrapped up in an extremely tight embrace with a very haggard, very _joyful_ Steve. Loki kind of feels like the world just stopped or something, like he’s been punched in the chest or slapped in the face and _dammit_ , that happens every time he sees Tony and Steve like that.

Tony and Steve pull apart but don’t let go of each other’s arms, and they’re grinning these wide, _holyshitIamsohappybestfriend_ grins that make Loki want to throw up or run away. He doesn’t like to feel this way, doesn’t like that he has _reason_ to feel this way, but he owns his emotions, his _jealousy_ ,more than anyone else does.

Loki is wearing what he’s sure is the most mortified expression _ever_ when Steve’s eyes land on him, and he can’t even bring himself to look away from the man’s smiling face. Sure, he closes his mouth and tries to appear a little less _humiliated_ , but it’s nearly impossible to tear his gaze from Steve. And then the man does something Loki doesn’t anticipate _at all_.

“Loki!” Steve gasps, and he releases Tony to come bounding towards Loki. He grabs him by the shoulders and _hugs_ him, like seriously, _haven’t seen you in forever_ , _missed you dearly_ , _best friend_ **_hugs_** him. And Loki has no idea _what_ to think.

So, he hugs Steve back with just as much fervor. And he smiles. Yeah, he’s going crazy (I say this because that’s the only liable explanation for _why_ he’s squeezing the hell out of the person he hates).

Steve lets out this overjoyed laughing noise and rocks Loki for a moment, cries, “You’re actually here! You actually came!”

It never occurred to Loki how many people wanted him at this game, and how badly at that. This feeling of _love_ comes rushing into him like a tidal wave, and his eyes legitimately start watering.

“I did,” Loki chokes out as Steve loosens his grip on him. He feels just a little _ecstatic_ with the way the man’s face lights up when he sees his expression. _Oh my God_ , what is this _emotion?_

“Steve! Steve!” someone (who sounds a lot like a certain Peggy Carter) shouts over the deafening noise of the crowd, and Steve flashes Loki one last smile before he’s surging through the sea of people, looking for his girl.

When Loki looks back at Tony, his friend is grinning like a Cheshire Cat, with pride and the ultimate _I told you_ written all over his face.

“What are you smiling at?” Loki barks, but it actually comes out sounding like a laugh. And damn, he’s smiling, too.

Tony moves closer to him and _oh God_ , frames his face with his hands, says, “You, stupid,” and then he fucking _presses their foreheads together_ , and words cannot express exactly how _amazing_ Loki feels right now. This has to be imagined, because things like this _don’t happen_ to people like Loki.

Loki is thinking about how he’s never ever _ever_ going to feel better than _this_ again when he hears his name being called, and he looks up, and it’s Thor, _sweet Jesus_ , _it’s **Thor**_. Loki only has time to open his arms before he’s being lifted completely off of the ground and spun around in the air by his brother, who is sweaty and gross and ew, but his fucking brother nonetheless.

“ _Loki, Loki, Loki!_ ” Thor chants, squeezing the man in a painfully, _wonderfully_ tight hug and knocking their temples together. _No one_ can hug like Thor can, and Thor doesn’t hug _anyone_ like he hugs Loki. True story.

Loki squeezes his arms as firmly as he can around Thor’s massive shoulders and lets out a cry of jubilation. This is positively the happiest he’s been in a long, _long_ , **_long_** time.

**Author's Note:**

> Well, that’s all folks. I really hope this isn’t as terrible as I think it is. I promise that I'll reply to all your comments as soon as possible.
> 
> Also, I’d like to request two things for a second time (they aren’t big, honest):
> 
> One, does anyone have anymore guesses regarding this unrequited pairing I’ve hinted at?
> 
> Two, more ideas for things that could happen later on? I’d love to hear your ideas.
> 
> \- Gabi.


End file.
